


hands.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Flirting, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Massage, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Tommy notices New Jersey's hands.It's hard to un-notice them.





	hands.

It’s not that Tommy doesn’t like hands.

You know, it’s not that he doesn’t  _notice_  them, on other people. Hands are as much a part of anybody as anything else. Big or small, hard or soft, clever or a little clumsy - but Tommy, before now, has always noticed them as part of the  _package_. Somebody’s hands, part and parcel with the rest of them, like their arms, their shoulders, their hips, their legs.

Sidney’s hands are their own thing.

Tommy first notices them when they’ve just come in from the field, and they’re all exhausted, but not tired enough that they can go to bed. They’re all aching, needing a sit down, but they’re all too much in their own heads, the adrenaline not yet having worn off - they’re all gonna be wide awake for at least another hour, and Buckaroo passes the cards straight off to Sidney.

“You want me to shuffle ‘em?” Pinky asks, but Sidney shakes his head, opening up the new pack without even looking at it, tearing the plastic off the cards and chucking the Jokers to the side. The other guys are talking, vaguely talking about cracking open a few beers, but none of them move to grab one. They’re not in the mood to drink. Tommy’s gaze is on Sidney’s hands, and he stares in abject surprise at the way he tosses the cards between his hands. He tosses them in the standard shuffle, once, but then he riffles through them like he’s running a blackjack in a casino further out in Nevada, and Tommy’s mouth is dry at the way the cards jump between his hands. Sidney’s big, doctor’s hands,  _big_  hands. Strong hands. 

Christ. 

“Jesus, New Jersey,” Reno stares, staring at him. “You shuffle those cards better than I do!” Sidney shrugs. He’s out of it, Tommy can see - his eyes are focused straight forward instead of on the cards themselves, but his hands, his hands,  _Christ_. Sidney, he’s got big hands. He’s a big guy, so they’re only proportionate ( _what else is proportionate, huh, Tommy?_ ), but they’re…  _Big_. Big, broad palms, long fingers that have a surprising delicacy to them, and they’re always so steady. He does tricks with the cards absent-mindedly, making one jump out of the deck and catching out of the air, and Pinky and Rawhide both laugh, clapping their hands. 

The new deck shuffled, Sidney sets it on the table. 

One hand goes to his head, and Tommy sees the way his thumb drags over the side of his temple, the movement slow. 

“What, you don’t wanna play?” Buck asks, even as he pours out some lemonade leftover from the fridge. “After that performance with the shuffle?” Sidney glances up at him, his mouth twisted into a discomfited line, and Buckaroo nods. “Head off to bunk, Sid. We’ll wake you up bright and early. You sure you don’t need that arm seeing to?”

“It’s just a bruise,” Sidney mutters, and he looks so  _tired_ –

“Don’t deal me in either,” Tommy says, standing to his feet as Sidney does. Buckaroo glances at him, and he gives him one of those  _looks_. Tommy nods his understanding, as he reads it in Buckaroo’s eyes -  _Go easy on him, he’s still new, and he’s definitely still new to_ **you**  - and runs a hand through his hair.

“You don’t have to look after me,” Sidney says, a little mulishly, as Tommy follows him down the too-narrow corridor, wherein Sidney actually has to bend his head slightly to keep his hat from brushing the light fittings. 

“That was a neat trick,” Tommy says. “With the cards. You do magic?”

“I used to, when I was a kid. Sleight of hand, stuff like that - it, uh, gave me real steady hands.” Sidney slips into one of the rooms, where he’s bunking, and Tommy follows him in, hovering in the doorway as Sidney kicks off his boots. “Hurt now, though.”

“They hurt?” Tommy asks, and Sidney nods, shrugging his shoulders. It’s funny - Sidney’s normally anxious, really shy, but now? It’s like he’s forgetting to be, he’s so tired. It’d be cute, if it weren’t a little worrying. “Hand one over.” Sidney glances up at him as he sits slowly on the edge of the lower bunk (and Jesus, Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if his feet come off the end of the bed), his eyes tired. Tommy’s hands are both out, and his mouth is a little dry, but Sidney acquiesces - doesn’t seem to find a reason not to - and puts one of his big, surgeon’s hands into Tommy’s.

It’s warm. “Aren’t doctors’ hands meant to be cold, New Jersey?” he asks softly, and Sidney smiles. It’s lovely, when he smiles - real cute, real handsome. Tommy drags his thumbs over Sidney’s palm, playing over the soft skin, and he digs into the flesh a little. Sidney groans, but Tommy keeps going, massaging right into the tired muscle on his palms and on the sides of his hand, and he’s taken away by it, how  _big_  the hand is between his own, the way his fingers twitch–

How would this hand feel, spread on his hip? Around his throat? Gripping at his thigh, or his ass? Tommy swallows, focusing on his job: most of the guys are straight, and the momentary falters they have around Tommy are because he’s  _perfect_ , not because they’re gay, Sidney probably included, but… 

Sidney is fidgeting, he realises. He’s squirming a little on the bed, his other hand gripping tightly on the sheet, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, and Tommy stops.

“No, don’t–” Sidney says, a little breathlessly. There’s a flush in his cheeks, ruddy and bright, and his thighs are pressed tight together. “That feels, um. That feels good.”

“Still hurt?” Tommy asks slowly. 

“Nah, no, no,” Sidney mumbles, shaking his head. “Sorry, you don’t…” He trails off as Tommy slowly leans in, and Tommy meets his gaze. Sidney’s cheeks are flushed, his spine as straight as a steel girder, and that’s– Well, damn. Seems like the only straight thing about him right now, and Tommy doesn’t need cards in front of him to make a gamble. He’s gone for straight guys before, anyway, and even if Sidney  _is_  straight, it’s–

God, it’s worth it. 

He lets his tongue dart out from between perfect, pink lips, and he touches it to the pad of Sidney’s thick, long thumb. He tastes the sweat on his skin, tastes the musk of the skin itself, and distantly he tastes antiseptic soap, but that’s from hours ago, from hours ago–

Tommy lets Sidney’s thumb slip into his mouth with a soft noise of his lips, and Sidney  _moans_. Quickly, Tommy kicks the door closed behind him, but he doesn’t take his mouth away, tasting Sidney’s thumb as it slides over his tongue, as he presses it into Tommy’s mouth. Sidney’s fingers spread over Tommy’s jaw, and it makes Tommy wild, makes him feel like he might just drop down dead. It’s been a long time since he went all out on a guy like this, but Sidney, he’s into it, he is…

Tommy pulls away with a quiet  _pop_ , and Sidney stares at him like Tommy’s a tornado in the distance, and Sidney’s the biggest tornado chaser this side of the planet. A little fear, but mostly  _excitement_ , desire. 

“You must be tired,” Tommy murmurs softly. “I could, uh, help you along the way a bit. I hear it’s a real soporific, to get your d–”

“Shut up,” Sidney says, hurriedly, and Tommy hesitates, tasting the rejection, but Sidney grabs him by the forearm, pulling him closer. Tommy has to dip his head to keep from hitting his head on the top bunk, and Sidney’s hand splays on his hip as Tommy falls into his lap. “I don’t want you to… You don’t have to do that. We can just neck a while.”

The confidence comes out a little false, and Tommy asks, a little dryly, “You necked much before?”  _Necked! Necked!_  How far does the cowboy thing  _go_? 

“No,” Sidney admits, after a pause. “But I never had someone put my thumb in their mouth either, and I sure liked that.”

“Your hands are nice,” Tommy murmurs. “Big.”

“I’m tired,” Sidney confesses. “What if we just, uh– You don’t have to… The door’s closed. This bunk’s taken. Sleep… Here. If you, uh, if you want to, that is, I don’t really wanna make y–”

“Okay,” Tommy says a little breathlessly. “You mind if I take your shirt off?”

“Yeah, su– Don’t you mean  _your_  shirt?”

“Sure, mine too.” Sidney laughs, his lips parting. He’s looking at Tommy with a kind of wonder in his eyes, and Tommy feels a shiver run down his spine.

“I didn’t know you liked guys,” Sidney says, like he still  _doesn’t_  believe it. His fingers are dragging over Tommy’s lower back, splayed so wide… 

“How can a guy  _not_ , when you’re right there?” Sidney laughs, this time a little more uncertainly, like Tommy’s caught him off-guard, and Tommy plays his hand a little uncertainly over the broad expanse of Sidney’s chest. “You wanna– Gimme the other hand?”

“Shirts off first, right?” Sidney asks, and Tommy’s laugh is soft and breathless.

“Oh, yeah,” he murmurs, beginning to unbutton Sidney’s. “I hate wearing shirts.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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